


Through the Cracks

by doctor__idiot



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 12x03 The Foundry, Angst, Episode Related, Fluff, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Hurt/Comfort, Like really minor, M/M, Sleeping Together, Some minor violence, the platonic kind
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-03
Updated: 2016-11-03
Packaged: 2018-08-28 20:39:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8462185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctor__idiot/pseuds/doctor__idiot
Summary: He wanted to be allowed for one night of his life to just … not be reasonable. Not be the thirty-something-year-old he was but the little boy from way back when who still hadn’t quite understood why everyone of his friends had a mom but he didn’t.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I rewrote this two times and I'm still not entirely happy with it but I do know when to admit defeat. Also, there was supposed to be smut. I swear. I don't know where it went. These things have a habit of getting away from me.
> 
> Disclaimer: Idea's mine, nothing else. Unbeta'd.

_When the road is getting long_  
_And you don't know where to go_  
_Come and rest your weary bones_  
_I'm gonna satisfy your soul_  
– Kristin Diable, 'Honey, Leave the Lights On'

“Dean, wait!”

Dean was hurrying down the corridor with long, hard strides and Sam fell into a jog to catch up with him. 

“Not now, Sam.”

Sam reached for his brother’s shoulder, whipping him around with what was most likely more force than necessary. “No, you don’t get to walk away from me! Not right now. Not when –“

Sam had anticipated Dean taking a swing at him. He was ready to dodge his brother’s fist the moment Dean hauled back his shoulder but Sam had miscalculated the width of the hallway and when he reared back, the back of his head collided painfully with the unyielding wall of the bunker.

The pain was sharp and instant and he squeezed his eyes shut against the wave of dizziness that crashed into him and would have knocked him off-balance if Dean’s hands hadn’t already been fisted tightly in the front of Sam’s shirt.

“You don’t…” he managed weakly through the brief burst of nausea until his vision slowly started to clear. “You can’t blame yourself, it’s not your fault.”

He had wanted to say that before Dean could strut off to his room and wallow in his guilt and his self-pity – Sam was right there with him, he wasn’t going to pretend otherwise –, even if he knew it was most likely a lost cause.

Nothing he said or did had ever made Dean hate himself any less but that didn’t mean that Sam should stop trying.

Sam’s hands clutched Deans’s wrists, holding onto him through the last aftershocks of dizziness. The collision with the wall had left him with a painful throbbing in the right side of his head.

It wasn’t improving his mood or his exhaustion any and he sort of wanted to hit Dean back, just for the sake of retaliating. Just for the sake of inflicting some pain of his own, because the way it had been lately, he had taken a lot and dished none.

Dean didn’t apologize and Sam hadn’t expected him, too. Sam let his hands fall to his sides, going limb against the wall. Their proximity and Dean’s body heat seeping into his own body from the spot where their heaving chests touched almost was enough for Sam to fall apart.

He felt like he was going to burst wide open, he wanted to scream, to cry, to rage, and yet he felt vaguely numb.

The hurt from Mary’s departure paired with the blank look in his brother’s eyes, the veil of sadness and guilt that was diluting the green of Dean’s pupils, it all got to Sam. He wasn’t going to break down in the hallway, though, in front of Dean’s room, with his brother still clinging to him. Dean might not even have noticed he still hadn’t let go of Sam’s shirt.

“Why –“ Dean suddenly began, more of a gasp than anything else, but he cut himself off.

Whatever he was about to ask, Sam wasn’t sure he could answer it. Not in a way that would be satisfactory to either of them.

“I’m so sorry,” he said instead.

Dean blinked at him. “For what?” His voice was raspy, sounded used.

“For leaving.”

He didn’t specify which time because there had been numerous. It didn’t matter that he had always come back. He realized a long time ago that it was partly his fault that Dean held on with both hands to anything he had because he was afraid, convinced, it would be taken away sooner or later.

He hadn’t been wrong yet.

Dean didn’t ask Sam to specify, either. None of it was important, it wouldn’t change anything.

Sam sighed, lifting his hands to rub his eyes. 

He had been angry. From the moment Mary had turned to them with that grief-stricken look on her face he had known that, of course it couldn’t last. 

When the heavy door of the bunker had slammed shut with that final thunder and he had caught Dean grinding his jaw in the corner of his eye, fury had begun bubbling up inside of him and he had just barely been able to stop himself from bringing his fist down onto the oakwood desk in the library, possibly spraining his finger bones in the process.

For his own sake, but mostly for Dean’s, he had wanted to shout at the unfairness of the world.

_Hadn’t they lost enough?_

Dean had said that Mary had been a ‘gift’ from Amara to them.

‘Can we, for once, just have one good thing?’ Dean had pleaded with him, desperately, so visibly scared of waking up from a dream, and Sam had made a flippant comment but he had been just as glad, just as afraid.

As it turned out, they couldn’t have just one good thing, and sue him if he was the one wallowing in self-pity now.

He wanted to be allowed for one night of his life to just … not be reasonable. Not be the thirty-something-year-old he was but the little boy from way back when who still hadn’t quite understood why everyone of his friends had a mom but he didn’t.

He had never really known Mary until a couple of days ago but she already felt like such an integrate part of his life that he couldn’t bear the thought of going back to not having her in it.

The worst part of it, the part that didn’t allow him to feel sorry for himself, was the part where Sam _understood_. If the situation was difficult for him and Dean, he couldn’t even begin to imagine how hard it had to be for Mary, and he fully supported her decision to take time for herself to sort through it all.

Or rather, he wanted to. If it just didn’t hurt so damn much.

“Hey,” the voice of his brother suddenly pulled him out of his own head, “What’s going on in that big brain of yours?”

They hadn’t moved. Dean was still crowding Sam against the wall, Sam’s head was still throbbing dully, and while Dean’s fingers had abandoned their white-knuckled grip on Sam’s lapels, his palms were still on Sam’s chest.

The tiled wall wasn’t exactly the most comfortable spot, especially not with how tired he was, but weirdly enough, Sam didn’t want to move.

He shook his head, unable to relate everything he was thinking and feeling right now to his brother, who, Sam was sure, was dealing with a similar emotional turmoil.

_Look at the two of them._

“Nothing,” Sam said with a tiny smile because he couldn’t help himself, “I’m just… I just want you to know that I’m still here. I’m not– I’m here.”

He wasn’t going to promise Dean that he wouldn’t ever leave him because Dean had heard that too many times from too many people and it had lost all its value. It was also not true because there were things that Sam had no control over.

He couldn’t promise his brother he wouldn’t be taken again, he couldn’t promise he wouldn’t get himself killed – and let’s face it, they both would eventually. He could only make the promise to try his damnedest.

He knew Dean would understand.

With a set jaw and his eyes focused on a spot on the wall to the left of Sam’s face, Dean nodded, swallowed visibly. “Yeah.” And, “I know.”

Sam couldn’t tell how much of what he said really permeated but, then again, he never could with Dean. His brother heard what he wanted to hear.

“Together,” Sam said, because he was already talking and why the hell not, “Whatever happens, we’re in it together.”

He needed Dean to understand that.

They had dealt with the Mark of Cain, the Darkness, the end of the fucking word – for the … Sam had lost count how many times the world has nearly ended –, Sam’s abduction, and their mother’s return, just to name a few more recent … scenarios.

Sometimes Sam couldn’t fathom how _weird_ their lives were.

Dean nodded slightly, tilting his head to the side as if he was thinking hard or maybe trying to read something in Sam’s expression.

Their continued proximity should be unnerving but it really wasn’t and Sam wasn’t sure he wanted to look at the meaning of that any more closely.

“Sorry I tried to hit you,” Dean said out of the blue with a blank face and Sam couldn’t tell whether he meant it.

It wasn’t important.

Sam shook his head, wincing slightly when the small motion fired his headache up again. He gingerly felt the back of his head. There would be a bump for a couple of days but it wasn’t anything worth worrying about.

He jolted slightly when Dean’s hand knocked against his own, cradling the back of Sam’s head, cushioning it from the wall.

Dean said nothing, only stroked his fingertips through Sam’s hair, careful to avoid the bruising spot right on the back of Sam’s skull.

“’m fine,” Sam said, a knee-jerk reaction, but his brother didn’t show any indication that he had heard. Or believed.

The exhaustion from the day settled heavily in Sam’s bones and he was sort of regretting the fact that he had not not moved to his room and his bed sooner because even leaning against the wall as he was, standing up slowly but surely became both uncomfortable and tiring.

He closed his eyes and asked, “Wanna go to bed?”

He heard Dean chuckle and the sound both surprised and warmed him. “Now, how can I refuse an offer like that?”

Sam couldn’t help the grin threatening to take over his face. “Idiot,” he chastized fondly, “You know that’s not what I meant.”

“Yeah,” Dean said immediately but it wasn’t clear whether he was answering the question or whether he was confirming that he knew what Sam meant.

Sam waited impatiently, swallowing thickly.

It wasn’t an out-of-the-ordinary thing for them to do, sleep together in one bed for comfort – occasionally for other reasons like broken heaters or shortage of money –, but they didn’t make it a regular thing, and to be honest, they hadn’t done it in a while.

Sam wasn’t too proud to admit that he missed it.

He had never known what Dean thought about it, whether he agreed to it because Sam asked – it was always Sam who asked – or because he himself took comfort in it.

Sam suspected the latter but he couldn’t rule out the former and, not for the first time, he wished they weren’t so terrible at communication.

“Dean?” Sam prompted and Dean startled, as if Sam had interrupted something.

“Yeah,” he croaked, cleared his throat, his eyes nowhere near Sam’s face. “Yeah, let’s go to bed.”

Sam sighed. “Dean, you don’t have to do me any favors.”

Now, Dean did look at Sam. “I’m not –“, he shook his head, inhaled deeply as if steeling himself. “I want to.”

To say Sam was surprised at his brother’s admission would be an understatement. But he would gladly take the win for today.

 

He followed Dean into his room silently, with heavy feet and even heavier eyes, not bothering to fetch any clothes from his own room. He would just strip down to his T-shirt and underwear and worry about clean clothes in the morning.

Dean got ready for bed wordlessly. He changed into a pair of old, worn-thin sweatpants, padding towards the bed on bare feet.

It was sort of funny how he always somehow managed to look old and weary, and young and vulnerable to Sam at the same time. It was the Conundrum of Dean Winchester that Sam had never been quite able to figure out.

Sam collapsed onto the mattress.

It wasn’t wide enough for both of them to fit onto it comfortably and still have a lot of leg and arm room but Sam didn’t care one bit. He even scooted at little closer to the middle, so their shoulders touched, a warm-hot spot of Dean’s skin against the thin fabric of Sam’s T-shirt and Sam drew a shaky breath, closing his eyes.

Dean switched off the lamp on the night stand, engulfing the room in instant blackness. The bunker had no windows and they always left the hallway light on so they weren’t completely without orientation if they woke up at night.

That little slit of yellow was the only light source in the room but it was enough for Sam to vaguely make out Dean’s features in the dark.

He turned onto his side, not bothering to put more space between them. He pillowed his head on his elbow, his chest pressed along the length of Dean’s arm from the shoulder down.

Dean shivered slightly, then sighed in content, making Sam smile.

He chuckled to himself but before Sam could ask what was so funny, Dean was already moving, pulling away from Sam. The instant loss of body heat made Sam bite his tongue against the complaint that nearly slipped free but then Dean’s forearm was nudging his head until he lifted it and laid it back down on Dean’s shoulder.

Sam splayed his palm over Dean’s belly and turned his face into the crook of Dean’s shoulder to muffle a snicker. “Now we’re really breaching the territory of 'corny' here.”

Dean rapped his knuckles against the back of Sam’s head. “Shut up and go the fuck to sleep.”

“I’m just saying,” Sam said softly, the grin audible in his voice and he could feel and hear Dean snort, “Never knew you were so big on cuddling.”

That was a flat-out lie and they both knew it. Dean was the most physical person Sam knew. For what he couldn’t say with words he made up with touches.

Sam, for a long time, hadn’t realized how _much_ Dean touched him until he had left for college. Not having his brother around him 24/7 had really driven it home for him that other people just weren’t as tactile.

Jess had been a good runner up, holding his hand when they were out and about, running her palm up his arm before she would say something to him, hooking her pinky into one of his belt loops when she wanted his attention.

But those touches were different. They were deliberate, filled with intent.

Dean, most of the time, didn’t even notice he was doing it, as if he had no control over his hands. And the strange thing was, that for a long time, Sam hadn’t noticed, either. He remembered times when Dean’s hand had been on his shoulder or his arm hooked around his neck when they were standing somewhere waiting and Sam had only noticed when they started moving again and the connection became a hinderance.

Up until Sam had been five years old, maybe six, they had slept in the same bed every night curled around each other, until their dad had taken Dean aside one day and told him with a stern face that he was getting too old for that.

At ten years of age, Dean had been mostly confused, because he hadn’t known anything else up to that point but he had nodded and obeyed, sleeping on the floor next to Sam’s bed for an entire week until Sam had pleaded with him to share a bed again.

It wasn’t something Sam remembered very clearly but he remembered being distraught at Dean’s exhaustion – he couldn’t have slept well on the floor even if it had been carpet – and confused as to why they were suddenly doing something wrong.

After another week of Dean falling asleep on the floor and sneaking into Sam’s bed in the middle of the night, their father had had to concede that it was pointless. A few years after that, Dean asked their dad if they could get a room with three beds.

Sam vaguely, ridiculously, felt like he hadn’t gotten a good night’s sleep ever since.

Dean groaned next to him. “Can you stop thinking so loud? I’m trying to sleep over here.”

Sam smiled, propping his chin up on his hand on Dean’s chest. “I was just thinking about… Remember when dad kicked you out of my bed?”

It sounded completely silly and he had to laugh at himself. It burst out of him without warning and he was surprised by it after the the week he had had. But it felt good. Really good.

Dean chuckled along with him. “Yeah. You were unconsolable.”

“Not the word I’d use but okay.”

Dean snorted. “You were.”

He fell silent after that and Sam laid his head back down, closing his eyes.

“Wanna know something?” Dean said quietly, softly.

“Tell me.”

“So was I.” Sam could feel him swallow. “I… I sleep better when I know where you are.”

Sam didn’t point out that, just because they weren’t sleeping _in the same bed_ , it didn’t mean that Sam wasn’t there. Until they moved into the bunker he had only been several feet away at night, one narrow motel bed over.

He didn’t point any of that out to Dean because he _got_ it.

“Yeah,” he replied just as softly, no other words needed.

“Jesus,” Dean snickered, “What a couple of fucking girls.”

Sam dug his elbow into Dean’s flank, not hard enough to hurt. “Shut up. There’s nothing wrong with being –“

“A cry-baby?”

“– honest about stuff like this,” Sam finished, undeterred.

Dean huffed. “You have to admit, it’s a little weird for brothers in their thirties to sleep in the same bed for … comfort.” He said the word as if it tasted like bleach, practically spitting it out to be rid of it as fast as possible.

“Our whole lives are ‘a little weird’, Dean.”

“You’re a little weird.”

Sam snorted. “Very mature.”

“Go to sleep, Sam.”

Eventually, after burying deeper into the memory foam, the blankets, and his brother’s side, Sam did.


End file.
